Amends
by GinkoToothed
Summary: Ripley and Bishop try to better understand one another on their flight back to the USS Colonial Marine HQ. Friendship and repair, right at the end of Aliens. Taken from LJ prompt. Two-part oneshot.


**A/N's:**_ Taken from a prompt on LJ's Prometheus Kink -_

"**[Aliens]: Ripley/Bishop or Ripley and Bishop, forget Alien3 happened.  
give me an afterward that veers away from canon. give me friendship (and repair), or more. I've shipped these two since I was *ten*. there has to be someone else out there who does."**

_This is intended to be a two-part one-shot. I'll admit up-front I'm more a Ripley/Hicks shipper but this was too good to pass up. Apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes.  
_

_I hope I delivered, Anon._

* * *

Still shaken, but invigorated with victory, from the near-death encounter with the Queen, Ripley heaved Bishop's upper half, his lanky arms roped around her neck from behind, his head resting over her shoulder. Newt trailed close behind as the three wandered briskly down the halls. He clung on as she made frequent stops.

"Where is the medical ward?" Ripley asked, slightly breathless. The Sulaco was a massive warship, not a commercial freighter with all payload and little space for living quarters. She was, at best, familiar with only twenty percent of its rooms and chambers.

"Down the mess hall, then take a left. It has huge plexiglass walls." Bishop replied. He sounded pained, but steeled it.

She broke into a jog, followed his coordinates - and almost missed it.

"Ripley, it's over here!" Newt's voice popped her train of thought. Her mind was so dead-set on finding the pilot cabin and getting all four of them the hell out of here, she lost track of her true destination. Once through the sliding doors, she set him slowly down on the nearest hospital bed. Bishop let a stifled groan escape once his back met the mattress.

"Newt," Ripley started, "I need you to keep Bishop company, while I get this ship started so we can be out of here. You alright with that?"

"Affirmative," Newt chirped. She has seemed to have brightened considerably since they left the colony. Alas, Ripley knew this was the calm before the storm of whatever psychological trauma had been afflicted upon her. At least she had some comfort knowing she would be at Newt's side - _always_ - to help her cope, as well as _genuinely_ sympathize with her potential suffering. She would never coldly brush it off like the company-employed psychiatrists had done to her.

As Ripley tore off to the pilot's cabin, Newt stayed at the bedside. Some moments of awkward silence. She wasn't sure what to say to an android with all of his guts hanging out...

"Does it hurt?" Newt asked on quiet impulse. She remembered how his face was a mask of mimicked pain and horror when the Queen tore him effortlessly in two, his systems reeling from shock.

Children were so honest, never to beat around the bush. "Yes, and no. I feel the pain here," he motioned around his torn abdominal skin and some synthetic muscles, "but the internal systems that are hanging out of me are completely numb."

Out of courtesy, he changed the subject. "How do_ you_ feel? You aren't hurt, are you?"

Newt shook her head.

"Good, good." He sighed, relieved.

The two felt a deep rumble, and a slight veer to the left. Ripley must have punched in new coordinates for the ship and got it going. A few minutes later they watched the warrant officer run past the ward in a hurry; it would be another ten before she returned, this time with a half-conscious Hicks in tow. She helped ease him into the hospital bed, before she headed out again.

"Where are you off to now?" Bishop inquired.

"To get your other half," She was ready to dart off to her destination.

"Ripley, wait."

She stopped herself through the doorway, glanced back at him.

"You'll need to grab the toolbox for me. It's in the hypersleep chamber in locker thirty."

"Is it locked?"

"Yes, the combination is 25-7-18."

Off she went.

* * *

Several minutes spooled before the android turned to Newt, asking her, "If you don't mind, could you grab a few of those disposable cloths from the left medical cabinet?"

She nodded, grabbing a chair to climb onto the ledge, fetching the box of sanitary cloths without a hitch.

"If you can take a few out and get them damp under the faucet, I would appreciate it."

She took out three and went to the sink; faucet on, faucet off. He could hear her wrench out the excess water. She returned and gave the damp ones to Bishop.

"Thank you," as he began to wipe the 'blood' off his face, neck and hands. Newt plucked another cloth out of the box and ran back to rinse it.

"Oh, I don't need another-"

"Your hair has that milk-stuff all over it." She objected.

Bishop gave a gurgling chuckle. "I don't have a mirror to see, so I'll let you do it, Doctor Newt," he permitted, playfully. She gave a small, sheepish smile as she came forward to wipe his 'blood' off his hair.

Ripley returned right when Newt was handing him another dry cleaning cloth, three-foot-long tool box in one hand and hauling Bishop's still-bleeding legs over her shoulder. She set both down on his bed as she rummaged through the medical cabinets for hypodermic needles, pain-killers and antibiotic ointments.

"Newt, if you get the toolbox open and help him repair himself..." she asked, distracted by her current search.

Newt looked at the android with wide eyes, unsure what to do exactly. She reached for the long, industrial plastic tool kit and unclasped it. The cantilever trays sprung out before she could bat an eye. A hundred tools and replacement parts were nestled in dozens of compartments before her.

Bishop could see her become more overwhelmed by the second. "Don't feel pressured to do this, I'll have Ripley to patch me up."

"But..."

"It's okay. You helped me enough. You did a wonderful job cleaning me up, and you have my utmost gratitude for that," he praised, taking her tiny hand into his. He was able to ease another small smile from Newt, and felt a glow inside.

"Bishop, what did you give Hicks before we left the reactor station?"

"Morphine."

"No antibiotics?"

"I bandaged him up, cleaned up his eye injury."

"Alright, so I'll have to administer some..."

"Ripley," The android called out.

"Yes?" She was in the middle of calculating how much penicillin to withdraw from the vial.

"I can't repair myself."

She frowned as she drew the plunger, finally turning to him. "You can't?"

"No, I need you to do it. I know you are more than capable."

Ripley froze, eyes widening. She didn't reply, trying to keep a straight face as she went to Hicks, quietly explaining the situation. He still appeared to be drowsy and in pain, but was listening intently as she cleaned up his cuts and nicks on his face. She then flicked the needle a few times to release any trapped bubbles, and injected the antibiotics into the crook of his arm.

Ripley motioned Newt over to Hicks' bedside. "Newt, are you comfortable taking a nap here?"

"Here?"

"You can rest with Hicks."

"He's okay with that?"

Ripley smiled as she stroked back a few stray strands from Newt's face; a familiar maternal gesture she hasn't done in a very long time. "Yes, he said so himself."

The girl turned to Hicks, who cracked a grin, and gave a weak lift and wave of the hand, his energy waning.

"C'mon, let's go find a change of clothes for you," Ripley suggested, placing a reassuring hand on Newt's back as they both left for the hypersleep chamber.

Bishop returned to the nagging thought after they departed: he couldn't quite pin down the expression she shot him earlier at his request for repair. Was she fearful? Disgusted? Agitated? Either way, it wasn't a positive response. Given her distrust towards synthetic persons due to her disastrous last mission, he must have overestimated her faith in him. He wouldn't push her.

Yet, she looked at him with pure, warm gratitude back at the hanger, after saving Newt from being sucked down the airlock. His processor continued to rack up possible interpretations; he can understand human emotions and respond, but Ripley was an outlier, a true, unique individual. She followed morals, ethics and logic, positioned herself far from the status quo, and refused to let her superiors mold her to how they saw fit. She was a harder one to read.

The two eventually returned, much more cleaned up: Newt shuffled in wearing an olive-green, oversized men's t-shirt, Ripley in spare military-issued under shirt and shorts. She helped the girl into bed, who promptly collapsed next to Hicks. Ripley talked to the Corporal for a while; he shifted to make more room for Newt while curling a protective arm around her.

As they dozed off, Ripley began to return the mess of vials and other medical items she yanked out.

"Ripley."

"Yes, Bishop?" She was almost done reorganizing.

"If you could be so kind, can you get the vinyl sack in the metal cabinet?"

"Now," She asked as she returned to him with the opalescent-translucent bag in hand. "What do I do with it?"

"Bag me up."

Ripley looked at the android as if he spouted something obscene. "What?"

"Bag me up. It will help keep me intact for the ride home."

"What about your legs? I thought you needed me to repair you?" Her eyes darted to his dismembered hips before him, then back to him.

"I understand, and take no offense, that you are not comfortable in placing your trust in me, due to your last mission."

"Bishop -"

"The technicians and programmers back at the Colonial Marine base will be able to fix-"

"Bishop!" Ripley barked. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she did not wake the two behind her. "Where did you get the idea that I didn't trust you?"

"When I requested assistance earlier, you appeared displeased, almost anxious." His voice was tense.

She frowned, trying to recall the moment, then returned with an expression that read, _'Ahh.'_

"I'm anxious about how I'm going to _fix_ you. The last time I attempted to reconnect an android, it was the one that nearly strangled me. A former crew member and I could barely get him to start talking. I am a bit fearful that I might reconnect certain wires and parts incorrectly, possibly making you half-paralyzed."

Bishop felt a weight - his initial worries - being lifted off his shoulders. "I wouldn't worry too much," he reassured, "I'll be here to guide you through the repair process. I don't mind if it takes you five hours or five days, as long as I can have my system stabilized."

Ripley gave a small laugh, thankful for his patience.

"You two reconnected him without any prior knowledge?" He continued.

"Lambert was the better technician out of the two of us, but yes, we were in the dark as we tried to fix him. We were able to get him to talking, but avoided telling us why Weyland-Yutani wanted the Xenomorph for. The more I reminisce on it, the more I am convinced he was intentionally hostile towards us on company orders."

"I will admit," Ripley continued, pulling up a wheeled chair right next to the android's bedside. "I am leery about where you swear allegiance to. I need to know how much I can trust you."

Bishop propped himself up with his elbows, listening intently and watching her lips as she spoke.

"Can I trust you not to turn on Hicks, Newt and I?" She inquired.

"I loyally serve the USS Colonial Marines and participate in any and all missions I am assigned to. However, I cannot buck orders issued by the company, unless trumped by military authority." He answered. Ripley released a frustrated exhale, her eyes downcast.

"However, if the company were to order me to kill you with or without extreme prejudice, I would flat-out decline. It is against my code to harm another human being." In a move that startled her, Bishop reached out, touching her arm, gently, with a large hand. Her umber-brown eyes flicked up to his blue ones. "Not just that, I would _prefer_ to disobey. I would rather force myself to 404, than to lay a hand on you, or any of the others."

He would _prefer_: a personal choice, not just following the code of the Three Laws of Robotics.

She gave him an assured smile. "Thank you," she acknowledged. Bishop tried to smile back, but was interrupted with a hiccup. He grimaced as a few severed but still-live wires squeaked.

"Well, we better get on with it," she muttered, still a bit anxious, leaning over Bishop to prop his pillows and himself up. Ripley then reached over to the long tool box, her slender hands hovering for a moment indecisively, before she picked up a long-necked electrical wand, and a high-tech soldering iron.

"Now, where do we start?"

* * *

**A/N's:** _A 404 in an android's case would be similar to an Error 404 in Internet/HTML speak, but it would be like a complete system crash. Not quite suicide, but it would be near impossible to get him to operate normally again._

_Friendship tiems and repair in next chapter. **Suggestions, comments and critiques are highly sought!** __Let me know at any time if I need to correct any characterizations._


End file.
